


Rhapsody

by clover71



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Child Prodigy, M/M, Mpreg, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clover71/pseuds/clover71
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes fate could twist two lives around in unexpected ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhapsody

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fiction may contain real people but none of the occurrences written here are real. The entire story is made up based on the author's imagination only and for non-profitable purpose.
> 
> A/N: This is inspired by the movie 'August Rush'
> 
> * * *

* * *

Music. This had always been part of David’s life. This was what David loved. Whenever his fingers touched the ivory keys of a piano, it came to him – like a gentle breeze that caressed his skin. Or the warm rays of the morning sun. Soothing. Calming. Relaxing. Then it would build up like a whirlpool swirling inside him, waiting to be freed.

Every strike of a key released a thought, an emotion that flowed out in a wave of spine-tingling melodies. Each note matched a single beat of his heart. His breathing matched the variations of chords rising and falling in a blend of spellbinding harmony.

The musical piece that he had been playing bled into a faster tempo and David led the sonata into its third and last movement. A string of high notes spiraled into the final highlight of the piece. It made David feel like he was soaring through the air, his heart pounding and chills surging throughout his body.

His long fingers pranced across the piano keys. The sharp tunes gradually fell into a smooth-flowing rhythm. David closed his eyes and imagined himself running in an open field with the sun setting on the horizon. He played the last succession of notes, transitioning to a reprise. Then finally, like love claiming victory over tryst, he brought the entire arrangement to a powerful close.

He remained on his seat, letting the overwhelming emotions fade. The sound of applause undulated from the audience, growing louder every second. And when David finally got to his feet to take a bow, everyone rose along with him to give him a standing ovation.

This was David’s world.

 

**********

 

Music. This had always been part of Cook’s life. This was what Cook loved. Whenever his fingertips touched the rough strings of his guitar, he was flooded with an overwhelming sensation. Like a tempest blowing wildly around him. Or the scorching heat from the summer sun. Thrilling. Awe-inspiring. Stimulating. Then it would build up like molten lava boiling inside him, waiting to erupt.

Every pluck of a string expressed an idea, an emotion that burst out in a wildfire of mind-blowing euphony. Each lyric that rolled out on his tongue carried a message. His blood rushed through his veins as the electrifying tune that flowed from his guitar blended with the sounds of the other instruments and broke out in a smashing harmony.

The rhythm changed upon reaching the bridge of the song and Cook poured all his energy as the notes climbed up to its peak. It made Cook feel like he was zooming, his mind reeling and adrenaline rushing rampantly throughout his body.

His hand clutched tightly around the guitar's neck and his thumb and index finger gripped on the pick, flicking it against the strings with calculated precision. Cook closed his eyes as he sung the last verse, driving his voice to a deep and gravely timbre. He sang the words that spoke of emptiness in one’s life, of searching for a love that could never be found. Then finally, he ended with a note drawn out to fade with a couple of strike on the drums behind him.

The rampant applause that tore through the crowd was distant to him at first but then the sound pierced through his eardrums, growing louder every minute. Hoots and whistles resounded within the four walls of the nightclub. Cook’s eyes scanned the crowd despite the spotlights slicing through his cornea, his heart swelling with pride.

This was Cook’s world.

 

**********

 

David had just gotten out of the changing room when he ran into Jordin. She seemed to be overflowing with enough energy to light up the room. “David! The crowd loved ya!" She practically screamed the words near David's ear.

He rolled his eyes knowing Jordin had probably said that to about a dozen other musicians already. She was nice like that. Positive. Encouraging. That's why David liked having her as a friend.

“Not as much as they loved you,” he said and he wasn't just returning the compliment. It was true. The way she played the violin during her solo performance tonight left the entire auditorium in awe.

"So you wanna go somewhere and celebrate?" she asked when they were ambling out of the lobby.

“Uhm, reality check? My dad’s here, remember?”

“Don’t worry, let me handle it.” Jordin winked and David could feel the weight of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. But handle it she did. David didn’t know how she managed to make his overbearing father agree to let him go frolic around the city of New York without supervision.

They ended up at someone's party – someone Jordin claimed she knew from high school. It was loud and rowdy and certainly not David's crowd. But Jordin seemed to be having a great time that he didn't want to spoil it for her so he swallowed the urge to leave and go back to the hotel.

In his desperate attempt to find a quiet place where he could relax for a while, he ended up on the rooftop of the apartment building. There was a man sitting on a plant box near the ledge, strumming vigorously on a guitar, and David was about to retreat when he realized that, _gosh,_ the tune the man was playing sounded pretty interesting. It wasn’t familiar but he liked the way the notes blended so he stood stock still, listening.

It wasn’t until the man looked up and their eyes met that David realized he was staring. He wanted to look away but then the smile that curved on the man's lips was so blinding that David was enthralled.

“Hi," David started awkwardly.

"Are you just gonna stand there all night?" the man said with a hint of amusement in his tone. “You can come join me here. I just needed a reprieve 'cause it's gotten a bit chaotic downstairs."

"Oh." David crept warily toward the man. "You're also here for the party?"

"Yeah." The man moved a little to give David some space to sit on. "My band mate's girlfriend is the one hosting that shit. You know Nicole?"

"My friend, Jordin, does." David wasn't sure, really. He just went by what Jordin had told him earlier.

"My name's David, by the way. David Cook." The man held out his hand.

 _Oh._ Something flipped inside David's chest. “My name’s David too. David Archuleta.”

The man seemed amused to find out they had the same name. He laughed – but not in a rude way – and said, "Well I guess I'd let you call me Cook since most of my friends do, anyway."

"Okay." There was something calming about Cook's presence so David relished the comfort of Cook's company. "What were you playing earlier?" David asked, no longer feeling ill at ease

Cook shrugged and there was something modest with the way he said, “Something I composed.”

“It was beautiful. But sad,” rolled out of David's mouth and he belatedly realized how blunt he was.

"I uh… I wrote the song and did the arrangement the week my brother died," Cook said, his eyes downcast.

Guilt stabbed sharply through David's chest and his heart clenched when a sad smile took shape on Cook's lips. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Cook placed his guitar gingerly next to him, keeping it upright. "So you're here with a friend?"

The abrupt change of topic turned out to be exactly what they needed. Their conversation paved way to discovering that David and Cook had a lot of things in common – they don't just share the same first name but also the same birth month, the same love for music and they were both left-handed.

Feeling like he had known Cook for a long time, David shared his dreams, told Cook he had just made it through a painstaking process of getting into Julliard and he was excited to start in the fall.

"So you're only eighteen and you've already had a concert at the Carnegie Hall? Wow," Cook said after David had told him about the concert earlier.

David felt his face burn hot with embarrassment. "I um… I wasn't the only one? There were others who played really well. And besides, it was for charity."

"That's still awesome. I mean, compare to playing in bars like I do."

"I'm sure you're awesome, too." David bit his tongue, unable to believe how open he could be. Pushing his diffidence aside, he asked, "Can you like um… play another song?"

"Sure." Cook lifted his guitar back on his lap and started strumming.

They spent the entire night up there on the rooftop – David listening to Cook play and sing and he somehow found himself gravitating towards Cook as the hours passed.

David could feel Cook's voice against his skin like a caress, making his entire body tingle. Cook's bright hazel eyes glimmered every time the moonlight touched the surface. There was something about Cook as a whole that seemed to set David free.

They seemed to have this connection – bound by their love for music, bound by something David couldn't name. When Cook leaned in slowly, breath ghosting over David's lips, David didn't budge.

"Is this okay?" Cook asked and David could only nod because the proximity made it hard for him to breathe, let alone speak. Then Cook closed the gap, pressing his lips ever so gently against David’s.

That was how their two worlds, different as it could be, had merged.

 

**********

 

Cook woke up with a start when a flash of light pierced through his closed eyelids. He could hear laughter, knew right away that his band mates were hovering nearby. His eyes were struggling to adjust to the brightness when he felt someone move beside him.

 _Fuck!_ He sat up, suddenly remembering David. His gaze fell on David's sleeping form. David looked so beautiful, even when asleep.

Cook recalled how they talked all night and when it had gotten too cold at the rooftop, they returned to Nicole's apartment and they must've fallen asleep on the chaise lounge while waiting for the sun to rise.

Another flash of light brought Cook out of his contemplation and he saw his band mate Andy holding up a camera. “Smile,” Andy said and just as he was about to take another picture, David stirred awake.

“Fuck off, Skib.” Cook’s eyes flicked over to David and he coaxed an apologetic smile across his lips.

David bolted upright and asked what time it was.

Cook's chest felt a ton when he asked, “Do you have to leave?”

“Yes. I'm sorry, my um…” David was on his feet, struggling to slip his jacket on. “My dad’s in town and if he finds out that I uh… I have to go.”

David had barely taken a step away when Cook blurted out, “Wait! You haven’t given me your number.”

David punched his number on Cook's phone, said, “Send me a text message with your name so I’ll know your number,” and gave Cook a quick kiss before rushing out of the apartment.

“You didn’t even introduce us to your new boyfriend,” Andy whined and Cook grabbed the first thing his hand could reach – his jacket – and hurled it over at Andy, making Andy and the others cackle even more.

Cook spent the entire morning pacing in his hotel room, doing his best to listen to what his band mates and road manager were discussing. He heard their manager, Art, say, "We have one last gig at Johns' Bar tonight and a couple others at Acme then we head to New Jersey in three days," and it sent a bolt of panic surging through his nervous system. He had to see David. He just had to.

It was before lunch when he found the guts and the time to call David. “I hope you didn’t get in trouble,” were the first things out of Cook's mouth as soon as heard David's voice.

"Oh." There were a few seconds pause before David spoke again. “I didn’t. My uh… my friend Jordin called my dad last night when she couldn't find me, told him I was staying with her since it was late. And um… I think he believed her?"

"Cool. You think you can um… meet me for lunch?"

There was another pregnant pause before Cook heard David release a breath. "I wish I could, Cook. But my dad wanted to have lunch with me before he leaves for Florida later. Maybe tonight?"

Excitement bubbled up inside Cook, making him feel giddy but he did his best to sound calm when he said, "Sure. Maybe you can come watch us play."

"Okay."

"I'll meet you near the arch at Washington Square Park at say… around five?"

"Sounds like a plan, Cook."

They had dinner at a diner. David didn't want anything fancy and Cook was glad because he didn't have much money in his pocket anyway. He was a struggling musician, but he wasn't about to admit that.

After dinner, they headed back to park where they met earlier, Cook's hand tangled with David's. Moonlight bathed the paved path making the landscape look ethereal and romantic. Music of practically all types – from jazz to ballad to alternative sounds – vibrated through the air.

Cook's phone rang just as he had David’s back pressed against a tree, their lips joined in a more practiced kiss. It was Andy, asking Cook where the _fuck_ he was and in a more subdued tone, reminded Cook that they had a gig in an hour.

"I'm on my way, Skib," Cook told Andy and after he hang up, he tugged David close, gave him a quick kiss and said, "Come with me."

David did and even went with Cook back to his hotel room willingly after the show. With the thrill still rushing through his blood stream and the burning desire to taste every inch of David's skin clawing at him, Cook felt too weak to resist so he claimed David, made David his lover that night.

 

**********

 

It sort of became their thing, meeting somewhere near the Washington Square Arch like star-crossed lovers with their secret rendezvous and falling into bed later in the night. David enjoyed the thrill of his freedom. It felt strangely fulfilling and David never thought he would enjoy sex as much.

David wheedled Cook into staying at his apartment the night before Cook was supposed to leave for New Jersey. His dad wouldn't be back in two days so David had less to worry about.

"What does your dad do anyway," Cook asked while they were both recovering from an incredible orgasm.

"He owns a company that develops and sells softwares," David said, nuzzling Cook's neck.

"And your mom?"

David drew in a deep, shaky breath. "My mom died when I was born. Childbirth complications," was the only response he offered.

"I'm sorry," Cook whispered then brushed his lips against David's forehead.

David tilted his head and was about to press his lips to Cook's when he heard the sound of the door closing. "Did you hear that?" He could hear faint footsteps approaching so he pushed himself up but then bedroom door flew open before he could get out of his bed.

"What the heck is this?" David's dad yelled then it was a blur of Cook trying to get into his clothes and Jeff yanking Cook out of David's room, leaving David trembling and crying underneath his duvet.

"Dad, please!" David croaked out when his dad came back to his room.

Jeff just looked at him, disappointment flashing in his eyes. "I never would've expected this from you, David," he said, every word punctuated with spite and resentment. "Go pack up what you can. We're flying to Salt Lake first thing in the morning."

"But I thought I could stay here until school starts."

"Not when you're going to be like this." The severity in Jeff's tone made it clear that there was no way David could turn things around.

His phone rang before his father could step out of his room and David caught a glance of Cook's name on the screen before his father snatched it from the bedside table. "I'll take this," he said and David helplessly watched his father turn it off.

Jeff had always been true to his words, never bluffed, not that David could remember. They left in the morning, Jeff dragging David to the car while barking orders to the driver to take the quickest route to the airport.

Maybe it was foolish but David expected to see Cook, maybe hear Cook's voice calling out for him. But Cook wasn't anywhere in sight. And David wasn't sure if he'd ever see Cook again.

David tried to get in touch with Cook though. He didn't get his phone back but he still knew Cook's number at the back of his mind. But for the third time that his call was thrown to voice mail, he decided to wait it out a little. When he called again barely a week later, he got an automated response telling him that the number was no longer available.

In all the time they spent together, David didn't know why it didn't occur to him to ask for Cook's email. He resorted to Google to find some information about Cook's band but there weren't any. They were an indie band, not signed to any label, so David resigned himself to the fact that it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Life in Murray was incredibly slow, compared to the few weeks he had spent in New York City. The first month was a torture. David couldn't get Cook out of his mind, couldn't eat properly and couldn't sleep well.

When David was slowly peeling away from the hope of seeing Cook again, he started feeling sick – nauseous half the time and he often found himself suffering from a dizzy spell.

His dad seemed extremely worried when he brought David to the doctor, but that worry evolved into a cyclone of distress and fury when they learned what was wrong – or in a twisted point of view, what was right: David was pregnant.

 

**********

 

Not once did Cook stop thinking about David. Cook tried to call him after that dreadful night when David's dad caught them but after a few attempts, it was David's dad who answered and he made quite a threat to destroy not only Cook but also his band mates – his friends. Cook thought it was wise to keep his distance for a while.

He didn't know how much damage David's dad was capable of but Cook soon learned that underestimating Jeff Archuleta was the most stupid thing he'd done. He was mugged when they were in New Jersey, his phone and everything he had on him were stolen. There was no way Cook could prove that Jeff had anything to do with the attack but after he had trouble with the mobile phone company and wasn't able to obtain the same number, Cook had the silly notion that the man could be the devil incarnate – manipulative and dangerous.

When he called David a month later, the number he had painstakingly memorized no longer existed.

In the fall, he flew back to New York, hoping to find David at Julliard only to learn that David didn't enroll that semester. And the next.

Eventually, Cook gave up and left it to fate. He did his best to focus on his music, to keep his band on their feet. Until some producer from an indie label discovered them a year later, signed them up and eventually, their first label-produced album was released.

 

**********

 

Not long after his son's death, David was forced to go on a mission for the LDS church. David wasn't sure how his dad managed to hide the fact that he'd been pregnant but David spent almost a year and a half _hidden_ in Florida before he was forced back to Utah to continue serving the church. He was later sent to Honduras to teach their religion in a poverty-stricken community for two years.

When he returned home, he might have been a changed man, but the pain of losing his son at birth still lingered in his heart. He found it too distressing to stay in Murray so he settled in Los Angeles and decided to pursue a course in music.

It was in his third year in college and David was coaxed to hang out with some school friends at a local bar when he saw the music video. The song was hauntingly familiar that his eyes darted up to the T.V. screen hanging at the corner.

"Such a waste, this band," Miley said, tutting beside him.

David tore his eyes away from the screen to ask, "Who are they?"

"The Midwest Kings." Miley took a swig of her beer then said, "They disbanded two years ago just when they were about to rise to fame. Only knew about them through my half-brother. He's into indie bands like this one."

 _Midwest Kings?_ The name nudged an old memory buried deep in the recesses of David's mind. _Midwest Kings. MWK. I wonder…_

David had an inkling that he'd seen the band before. The scenes rolled by so fast that David couldn't see their faces long enough to identify them. Then the lead singer finally came into focus. David stared at him. Without the beard, he looked almost like—

"That dude David Cook really had a great voice," Miley blurted.

David whipped his head, ignoring the vertigo, and asked, "Who?"

"You mean the lead singer?" she asked, looking like she had had several bottles of beer instead of just one. "That's David Cook. Last I heard he married one of his groupies."

 _Married._ The word stung, reopening a wound that David thought had healed a long time ago. _Cook's married._ The heartrending thought clamped at his heart and he so desperately tried to push the pain away.

 

**********

 

"Dave? Someone's here to see you."

Thinking it was a client, Cook saved the billboard design he'd been working on for the past five hours, turned off his computer then quickly made his way to the reception area. What he didn't expect was to find his former band mate, Neal, sitting in one of the leather-covered seats.

"Hey dude," Cook said, a mix of emotions surging through him in an instant.

Neal sprang up from the couch. "Hey Dave. Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."

"No, no. Actually I need a break."

They ended up in the café across the building where Cook worked. It had been three years – three _fucking_ years – since he last saw Neal or anyone from his old band. Cook's gut twisted with guilt knowing how he failed them all.

Cook hadn't really told anyone the reason why he walked away. But he knew he owed it to them – to Neal at least. So when Neal asked what happened, Cook started with "I lost inspiration" because that was the truth.

"Remember when we were in New York for the last show of our tour?" Neal just nodded but didn't say anything, his eyes burning with anticipation. Cook ran a hand over his face, said, "I saw David's father at the Peninsula and sort of chased him down Fifth Avenue, asking him about David," and scoffed as he recalled how evasive the man was. But Cook was persistent. "The fucker told me that David was married, found himself a nice Mormon girl and I just…" Cook felt crushed.

"That was three years ago, man," Neal pointed out. "Wait. Was that why you asked that girl—what's her name—to marry you out of the blue?"

Cook barked a derisive laugh. "I was drunk!" But now that Neal brought it up, he realized that maybe that was another reason why he chose to disappear, why he hid away in Tulsa for a year before moving back into his birth town in Blue Springs.

Neal laughed with him, almost spilling his coffee in the process. "She almost went on a rampage looking for you, you know?"

"I don't wanna hear about it, man." Cook rubbed his temple with the heel of his hand in an attempt to ease the tension building up in his head.

"Anyway…" Neal's expression turned serious and Cook wasn't sure he'd like to hear what Neal had to say next. "The others and I have regrouped and we all came to a unanimous decision that you should still be our lead singer."

"I don't know, Neal. I… I have a job."

"What? You call Photoshop _ping_ all day a job?" It didn't come out as sarcastic as Neal probably would've intended but Cook feigned offense.

"I do graphic design, dude. That's decent work."

Neal sniggered and shook his head. "Just think about it, Dave. You don't need to decide right away."

It was a tempting offer and Cook would be a hypocrite if he didn't admit that he missed the life on stage. "I'll think about it," he said, not because he was inclined to but because he just might reconsider.

 

**********

 

David took a job teaching music at an elementary school in San Diego right after graduation. Being around children filled the gap left in his heart when he lost his own child. He knew it wasn't healthy to dwell on the past, but every year on his son's birthday, he'd light up a candle to remind him how old he would've been. That was exactly what he did on his son's supposedly eighth year.

After his last class for the day, David sauntered into the teachers' lounge to find some of his colleagues huddled in front of the T.V. They were watching the news and a photo of a boy – eight, probably nine years old – flashed on the screen. "Another kid missing," Brooke explained and the rest David heard from the reporter who rambled on about how the boy ran away from an orphanage and other things David could no longer understand. He was exhausted.

When the camera zoomed in on the boy's face, David felt his heart leap. There was something about the boy that drew him in. His hazel – almost green eyes reminded him of… of someone.

The sound of his phone ringing yanked David out of his rumination. He fished his phone out of his pocket and was surprised to see his aunt's name on the screen.

"David?" his aunt said, her voice heavy with something foreboding.

She told him how Jeff was seriously ill – his heart getting weaker. David hadn't spoken to his dad since he returned from his mission, since they argued about him finding a suitable girl to marry. He had had enough of his father's manipulative ways and he wondered if this was just one of Jeff's schemes to lure him back home.

It wasn't.

Jeff genuinely wanted to ask for David's forgiveness. "Th-there's something y-you need to know, David," his dad said amidst the beeping of the machines around him. "A-actually, two things. And… and these are probably the w-worst and most selfish things I… I've ever done."

David tried not to roll his eyes. He didn't know what could be worse than everything else his dad did but he didn't say a word, just watched as his dad took a long, labored breath, coughed a little and said, "Cook. He's… he's been trying to c-contact you, son. I s-saw him three years ago. But… but I told him you were married."

"What?" The rage that surged through David made him feel like his chest was about to explode. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he fought the urge to land one across his dad's face. The thought of _Cook, Cook, Cook_ swirled around his head.

"Th-there's something else," his dad added, gasping a little. David had to lean closer to hear him better. "David. You're… you're son. You're son isn't dead." The anger already flaring inside David burned hotter. He didn't know what his dad was up to but he dared not to interrupt, even if he was close to grabbing his dad by the shoulders and literally shake the information out of him.

Tears brimmed on Jeff's eyes when he said, "I… I lied to you. I'm sorry, son but… y-you're child didn't die at b-birth."

"What are you saying?" David hissed after a long pause and when his dad didn't seem like he was going to speak up, David yelled, "What _the heck_ are you saying, Dad?"

Jeff blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek. "Forgive me, David. B-but I had your son s-sent to an orphanage in… in New York."

It felt like a slap across his face, like a thousand knives rampantly hacking through his heart. "How could you?" was all David could utter. He could feel the tightening in his chest, his heartbeat echoing in his ears.

 

**********

 

Cook didn't know what _the fuck_ he was doing but he winded up in New York City, wandering into Johns' Bar in the middle of the afternoon. The place was almost empty, save for a few customers. He climbed up on the stage and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. He could almost hear the screams and whistles of the crowd – men and women asking for an encore.

He was so lost in his daydream that when someone said, "Can I help you?" he spun around, startled. Michael Johns stood at the edge of the stage looking almost exactly how he did when Cook last saw him.

"Mike!" Cook reached out for a handshake. "Remember me? Dave Cook? We used to play here."

The slight frown on Johns' face smoothened when he took Dave's hand and said, "Fuck, yeah man. It's been ages!" with a genial smile.

"Yeah, well," Cook started with a casual shrug, "my friends—former band mates had formed a new band and they told me they're playing here tomorrow night."

"Neal told me they're kinda hoping you'd join them," Johns said. "Come on. Beer's on the house. Tell me what you've been up to."

After a couple of beers, Cook left Johns' bar then aimlessly roamed around the city. His feet let him to Washington Square Park, guitar case bouncing against his hip. He lingered near the arch, memories from nine years in his past surging through him in waves. He was young then – full of silly hopes and dreams.

He couldn't help but think about David, indulging in the memories of a short-lived relationship that practically shaped him as a person back then. His friends thought it was absurd to let his life revolve around something so ephemeral. They would never understand. How could he explain that it felt like it was destiny that brought them together?

It was still early and the weather was friendlier than he could remember. He didn't want to go back to his hotel room yet so he thought he'd stick around, contemplate, figure out what he really, _really_ wanted to do and all that shit. He could hear Neal's voice somewhere at the back of his head saying, "It's just one show, Dave. Then you can decide if you want to stick around or not."

 _Just one show._ Somehow, Cook had a gut feeling that there would be repercussions if he were to succumb to Neal's bidding. Performing could be addictive, that he knew. But Cook certainly missed it.

The park was surprisingly crowded despite of the cold. Several patches of snow were scattered across the ground. He looked for a place to sit, found a bench near the fountain occupied only by one boy who was plucking on a guitar. Curious, Cook made his way over. "This seat taken?"

The boy looked up at him, eyes glinting against the sun. "Nah," he said, shaking his head. "You can sit if you want." The smile that manifested on the boy's lips was so coy that they reminded Cook of someone. The thought made Cook's heart skip but his journey down memory lane was interrupted when the boy resumed playing.

Maybe he expected to hear casual strumming or basic chords because the boy looked – what? – eight? Probably nine years old? But his jaw nearly dropped when he heard a series of complicated harmonic progression, something akin to twelve bar blues but with a unique touch.

Cook sank into the empty spot and stared. When the boy was done playing, all Cook could say was "wow" then he shook out of his trance to add, "You're good. No, not just good. You're amazing," with pure, unadulterated awe. "I mean that was really something." He settled his guitar case vertically against the bench's arm.

"Thanks." The boy's cheeks turned red, his dark hair falling in soft waves over his hazel – almost green eyes.

"I'm Dave," Cook said, offering his hand.

The boy shook his hand – warily, it seemed. "I'm AJ, um… that stands for Adam James," he said almost timidly. "You also play?" His eyes gestured at the guitar case.

"Yeah. Let me just…" Cook laid the case flat on the ground, unzipped it and pulled out his guitar. "Now. See if you know this." His fingers grazed the rough surface of the strings. What started out as meaningless variations bled into the opening chords of one of the songs that he had written. He hummed along, unwilling to let the words form and roll out of his lips because he knew singing would just stir up the familiar twinge this song often brought to his heart.

"I know that song!" AJ blurted after Cook had struck the last chord. "Paper Heart. It's from this indie group, Midwest Kings."

Cook's eyebrow shot up, unable to hide his sudden incredulity. "You know them?"

"Yeah." AJ nodded with the common enthusiasm of a child. "My friend Daniel had this CD he stole—" He caught his tongue between his teeth and hesitated before he spoke again. "Well… he had this CD and we listened to it every night when I was still staying at the warehouse."

"Warehouse?" That was when it occurred to Cook what a child as young as AJ doing in the park. Alone. "Where are your parents?"

There was the obvious guarded look that swept past AJ's eyes. "Don't have any. I grew up in an orphanage. No one could tell me who or where my parents are." The words weren't weighed with sadness but with a wistful hope instead. "But I know they're still alive. I can feel it. That's why I ran away from the orphanage. To look for them," he babbled then slapped his hand over his mouth.

Alarmed and worried, Cook asked, "How old are you anyway?"

"Eight." AJ's face was painted with dread. "Please don't turn me in, Mr. Dave. I don't want to go back to the orphanage. I just… I just want to find my parents." The sight made Cook's heart ache.

"Alright." Cook sighed in resignation. "But I don't think you should be living in a warehouse—"

"I don't live there anymore!" AJ exclaimed. "I um… I actually escaped two weeks ago because Simon – the man who looked after us kids just wanted to use us to beg for money or steal and…" AJ's gaze fell to the ground, his shoulders slumping.

Chilly air blew past them, prompting Cook to pull his beanie down. "Why don't we get out of the cold? You hungry?" he asked and laughed when AJ's face lit up like he was saying _'yes, yes, yes!'_ so Cook took him to the nearest McDonald's.

"Where are you staying now?" Cook inquired as casually as he could when he was halfway through his Big Mac sandwich.

"Julliard."

Cook lifted an eyebrow, wondering if he heard it right.

AJ must've caught his reaction because the most outrageous story came barreling out of his mouth. "When I uh… when I ran away from Simon, I hid in the church. A-and Pastor Randy took me in, taught me more about music and later he said I have this special gift. That I um… I can learn to play an instrument in less than an hour. So he—he brought me to Julliard and now…" AJ trailed off, seemingly studying Cook's face with a doe-eyed countenance.

"So because you're gifted, you got into Julliard? Even if you're only eight?" Cook did his best not to sound too skeptical.

"Mhmm," AJ hummed around a mouthful of sandwich.

"What were you doing in the park then? Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Something crossed AJ's face that Cook couldn't read. "They um," he started, uncertainty defining his profile, "they—the um, New York Philharmonic Orchestra wanted to play the rhapsody I wrote for the Christmas at the Park concert."

"You wrote a rhapsody?" Cook couldn't hide his disbelief this time. "And THE New York Philharmonic Orchestra wants to play it at a concert?"

AJ nodded and dug into his hot fudge sundae. "They um… they also asked me to conduct the orchestra and I sort of got scared," he said after swallowing a particularly large serving of the ice cream. "So I took off and went to the park. To think."

"Okay." Cook was somewhere between wanting to believe this kid and wanting to throw himself in front of a moving truck for wanting to believe this kid. "And what are you going to do now?" he asked, uncertain where this conversation was going.

"I don't know." AJ met his gaze and Cook could see the trepidation undulating on AJ's eyes.

Cook thought, _fuck!_ Whether this boy was telling the truth or not, Cook couldn't ignore the flash of a moment when he saw himself on the boy, saw the hesitation and fear and worry and everything else he felt about going back to the stage.

"Listen," Cook said, finally making a crucial decision that could turn his life around. "It's normal to feel scared, especially when you're about to do something you haven't done before or something you haven't done in a long time. Just think about what you love the most. I suppose you love music." AJ gave a curt nod but remained quiet. "Well just think about how much you love music above everything else and you wouldn't even notice your fears or worries or anything that's holding you back."

Cook made a mental note that he should follow his own advice. It was almost dark when they parted. AJ declined Cook's offer to walk him back to wherever he needed to go. He just took off, yelling, "Thanks for dinner, Mr. Dave!" and leaving Cook wondering if he would ever see AJ again.

 

**********

 

"Any word?" David was on the edge of his seat, when Kris – the social worker who had been helping him find his son – walked in.

When David arrived in New York a month earlier, the first thing he did was head straight to the orphanage where his dad sent his son.

"I asked them to call him Adam James," his dad had said. "Adam because I know that was the name you wanted to give him." David didn't explain the reason behind it, didn't tell his dad that he planned to name his son after the brother Cook lost. "And James because I thought he should have something from you, your second name at least," his dad had added.

David learned though that his son ran away two weeks before David arrived.

"I don't wanna give you any false hope, but we might have a lead," Kris said. The chair behind his desk squeaked when he took a seat. "Last week, the pastor from the nearby church brought a boy, about eight years of age, to Julliard."

"Julliard?" David wondered what this information had to do with his son.

"Yeah, I know it sounds weird. But the boy's description matches your son's and he turns out to be some musical prodigy." Kris leaned forward, crossing his arms on his table as if he was daring David to scoff or maybe say something but David just worried his lower lip and waited for Kris to continue.

"Julliard refuses to release any information so I just got this bit from the girl I'm dating who works at the school," Kris explained. "She knows AJ was sort of my protégé at the orphanage, knows that I've been looking for him since he ran away. So she called me when the news about a child prodigy at school reached her. She hasn't seen the boy but she asked someone to describe him and all she knows was they call him Adam. I figured it was either a phenomenal coincidence or the boy she was talking about is your son. She promised to dig further and will call me as soon as she finds out anything."

David left the social service office with a tiny flame of hope flickering inside him. He called Jordin to share the news and she was ecstatic but she coaxed him to relax, saying, "Why don't you try to focus on rehearsing for the concert tomorrow and maybe you'll hear some good news after that."

 _The concert._ David wasn't sure if agreeing to perform at the Christmas concert in Central Park was a smart decision but Jordin was persistent. And she went through all the trouble getting him a spot so he couldn't find it in his heart to turn her down.

Besides, thinking too much about his son would drive him insane so David needed a little distraction.

The next day, David could feel the metaphorical butterflies fluttering inside his belly, not because he was nervous about the concert— _okay,_ maybe half of it was because of the concert—but mostly because he was eager to hear what Kris had learned from his girlfriend.

"I'll just see you at the concert tonight, David," was all Kris said over the phone. David couldn't _dang_ wait.

 

**********

 

Being back on stage felt absolutely exhilarating. The sense of power that surged through Cook's body was incomparable. The crowd's cheers revitalized him, prompting him to give everything he got.

Even as their set came to a close with an encore, Cook's body still pulsated from the after-thrill.

"You. Haven't lost your touch, my friend." Andy threw an arm languidly around Cook's shoulder. "You should come back, you know. Or maybe perform with us once in a while."

Without hesitating he said, "I just might, Skib. I just might."

They had a few drinks – _just like old times_ – before they headed back to the hotel, already planning their next gig. Cook didn't take part in the conversation, just listened to them talk about how it would be cool to go on tour again.

There was a traffic jam along Eighth Avenue and Cook heard Andy mumble, "Ugh, Christmas rush."

"Nah. I think there's a concert at Central Park," Monty said, craning his head to peer out the front.

Cook wasn't bothered at all, just sat comfortably in the back seat and kept his eyes out the window while drumming his fingers on his thigh. He caught sight of the banner hanging on a post lamp where _'Christmas At The Park'_ was printed in large fonts. He thought he saw David's name but the SUV moved before he could check again. There was another banner ahead and Cook made sure to keep his gaze fixed on it. Luck was on his side because the vehicle slowed down and Cook's heart skipped when he saw _'David Archuleta'_ on the list of performers.

Something else caught his eye before he could yell, "Stop the car!" Cook blinked to make sure he wasn't just imagining things. Just above David's name was written: Adam James performing with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra.

"Fuck," slipped out of Cook's mouth. _The kid was telling the truth._

"What the fuck is it, Dave?" Neal spat from the driver's seat.

"David's here," Cook said, hopping out of the car. "I'll see you guys back at the hotel." He dashed into the park, heart hammering against the walls of his chest. _David's here. David's here._ He kept repeating it in his head like a mantra, afraid that if he stopped, it might turn out as nothing but a dream.

 

**********

 

Performing on stage felt extremely liberating. David hardly noticed the bitter cold. His fingers flew across the keys – the warm melodies of Haydn Sonata in G major spiraling from the piano. At the end of his last piece, he soaked in the crowd's appreciation, applause rippling around him.

As soon as he got off the stage, he sought out Kris but he wasn't anywhere in sight. He sauntered away from the stage, cell phone in hand, but his call was thrown straight to Kris' voicemail.

David could hear the orchestra behind him. They started out with the violins, a haunting melody flowing from the stage. Then the other instruments folded in like they were all telling a story and the enchanting sound sent goosebumps up David's arms.

It was a rhapsody, David recognized. And he was drawn back to the stage, worming his way through the crowd as if there was some invisible rope tied around his wrists and pulling him closer and closer.

David's eyes were fixed on the conductor, watching intently as the conductor's arms moved as if he was controlling the tides in the sea – his posture, his every move exuded a rich amount of confidence. His back was turned but there was something about him that David couldn't tear his eyes away. David had to stare long and hard to realize he was a child.

 _A little boy?_

"David?"

 _That voice!_ David's body seized. _I know that voice._

Slowly, David twisted around and gasped. "Cook." The name came out in a whisper. David felt like his knees would give way but before he could sink on the ground, large arms wound around his waist, holding him tight.

"Oh god, David. It is you," Cook said against David's skin, face buried in the crook of David's neck.

 _Cook's here._ David's mind reeled. He held on to Cook, afraid that if he let go, Cook would disappear. "Oh my gosh. You're here."

"Yes, David. I'm here."

The music coiled around them, pitch rising as if the rhapsody was about to reach its climax. David slid out of Cook's arms but he kept his side pressed against Cook's, their hands entwined. They both lifted their gaze up on the stage, watched as the boy led the ensemble into a powerful close.

Applause tore through the momentary silence and when the boy turned to take his bow, David's heart leapt up to his throat. "Oh my gosh!"

And he vaguely heard Cook say, "I know that kid."

"That's AJ!" they both cried out and David snapped his head to meet Cook's gaze. "You know him?" they asked at the same time but Cook was the first to explain.

"I met him yesterday at the park. Washington Square," Cook said, lines appearing on his forehead. "How do you know him?"

Reality smacked David right across his head. How would he explain this to Cook?

"Um…"

"Mr. Archuleta! David!"

David released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He turned just in time to see Kris bounding over to them.

"David! Thank goodness." Kris had his hand pressed against his chest as if he was trying to catch his breath. "I was asked to turn off my phone so I didn't know how else to contact you," he said. "Come with me. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Before Kris could walk away, David managed to introduce Cook. He didn't offer anything else, just said, "This is Dave Cook," with a wave of his hand but Kris smiled as if he understood who Cook was.

"Come, guys. He's waiting," Kris said and led them behind the stage where a tent stood as a temporary shelter to the performers.

A couple of women and a man swarmed around AJ. His eyes lit up when he met David's gaze. He said something to the people he was speaking with before ambling over to them.

AJ's eyes skipped to Kris and David saw Kris nod through the corner of his eye. AJ's lips stretched into an earnest smile. "I knew it," he said, his eyes on Cook. "I knew we were connected somehow."

Cook's face was framed with utter confusion. AJ turned to David, smile growing wider. "Hello Daddy," he breathed out in a whisper. "Did you miss me?"

David lost it then. He threw his arms around AJ and let the tears fall. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know you were alive until recently."

AJ's tiny arms coiled around him. "It's okay, Dad. Mr. Kris told me everything." When David pulled back, AJ's eyes darted back to Cook. "Is he…?"

David schooled his expression before lifting his gaze up to Cook's face.

"He called you dad," Cook said, hurt evident in his voice.

 _Oh,_ David thought. "Oh. He's actually um… he's also your son."

The frown lines on Cook's forehead deepened. "How did that happen?"

David told him the story in the most concise way he could manage, including all the lies his father had made. Mixed emotions danced on Cook's face before his lips finally arched in a heartfelt smile. He pulled David in for a kiss, his mouth eager and fervent against David's own.

"Um, Dad? Papa?" AJ's voice broke through the spell David was under, reminding David where he was. David drifted reluctantly away from Cook to face his son, who looked sheepish when he said, "Can you take that somewhere else?"

Cook barked a laugh and hefted AJ up, hugging him tightly. When AJ slid back to the ground, he raised both hands in invitation. "Can we go home?"

"Of course." David took AJ's left hand while Cook claimed the other. They invited Kris for dinner but Kris declined, telling them they would need the privacy to bond, to reconnect.

"Some other time," Kris said and David didn't insist.

Tonight was about AJ. About him. About Cook.

 

**********

 

 _Two years later…_

"Papa! You're going to be late for your own concert! Gosh!" AJ's voice echoed around the house and Cook had to laugh at how his son sounded like he was the adult one.

"I'm coming!" Cook dashed down the stairs, feeling his pockets. "Wait. I forgot my phone." AJ held up his hand, fingers curled around Cook's phone. "What would I do without you," Cook said, ruffling his son's hair.

"Papa!" AJ pushed Cook's hand away. "Dad and I spent hours fixing that."

David was already behind the wheels when they jogged out of the house. The drive to Staples Center didn't take long despite the usual Los Angeles traffic.

"AJ and I are going to look around," David said when they were trudging down the hallway leading to the dressing rooms and gave Cook a quick peck on the lips before wandering at the opposite direction with their son. Cook was led to a room where he settled on a chair and the make-up artists were soon all over him.

Fate had been kind, Cook thought. If he hadn't decided to regroup with his old band under the new name 'Anthemic' then he wouldn't be here. The last two years had been a struggle but patience and hard work had its rewards. They were signed up with a major label and their first album had gone platinum in only three months.

But the best reward was his family. David still taught music but occasionally played for a crowd of five thousand, sometimes more. AJ on the other hand chose to leave Julliard and went through grade school like every ten-year-old kid. He appreciated his gift but he wanted to have a normal childhood.

After Cook had slipped into a pair of very tight pants, a t-shirt and his boots, he lingered at the side of the stage, watching Neal and Andy and Monty and Kyle take their places. Then the stage manager ushered Cook down the stairs where David and AJ were waiting.

"Good luck," they said at the same time.

Cook planted a kiss on his son's forehead then his mouth descended on his husband's. "I love you both," he said when he pulled away and climbed up on the platform that would lift him up to the center of the stage.

 _This is it._ The platform began to rise and Cook struck a chord, giving his band the cue they needed before starting out the intro for 'The World I know.'

 

 **THE END**


End file.
